


al fresco

by sarken



Category: Real News RPF
Genre: Gen, New York City, TSP Comment Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over dinner, Keith asks Rachel if she wants a show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	al fresco

The question comes out of nowhere on a summer's night, Keith raising it almost casually over dinner. "How would you like a show?" he asks, leaning in, resting his forearms on the tabletop. He's smiling, sort of; it's an awkward, nervous thing, but there is an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. Rachel can see it even through the headlights reflecting in his glasses.

It makes her heart race.

"A show?" She laughs because she doesn't know the answer, and she reaches for her drink, some frozen, rum-based thing Keith ordered for her while she was in the bathroom. It tastes like a gas station slushy, but the cold is a welcome relief from the muggy air and the hot breeze blowing off the busy street, and she sucks nosily on the straw. "I already have a show, on the radio."

Keith shrugs. "This is better," he says. "It's on TV."

Rachel sits back, staring down into her glass. She pokes at the red slush with her straw, and then looks up at him. "Shouldn't there be, I don't know, an executive here? Maybe a couple of lawyers?"

Keith shakes his head. "This isn't the network asking. This is me."

"Oh, well, if _you're_ asking..." Rachel says easily, sitting forward, mimicking his posture. She's had just enough frozen daiquiri to make her willing to play this game, whatever it is. "Yeah, sure, I'll take a show. Two, even. I might as well keep doing two hours a night."

Keith smiles at her with a fondness she's never seen before, and she looks away as she begins to realize that he's serious.

He could have waited until after dinner, she thinks, staring out at the line of red taillights stretching up the avenue. She's never going to be able to eat with her stomach tangled up in a knot and her mouth so hot and dry.

Her arm feels heavy and slow when she reaches for her drink, and she forces herself to take the smallest of sips through the straw. She lets the sweet ice melt on her tongue before she says, "You're not quitting." It's not a fear, not exactly. It's more like an attempt to understand why he could be asking.

"Rachel."

She closes her eyes and breathes in, the pungent smell of an East Village summer reminding her this is not a dream.

"Yes," she says, and the intensity startles her. She's thought about a show, but never as more than a distant fantasy, a nice someday-goal for the far-off future. Tonight, though, just from the tone of Keith's voice, the possibility feels real, so tonight, she lets herself _want_ it without knowing why.

Keith nods to himself. "I thought you might," he says. The slow smile that spreads across his face isn't meant for her, even though his words are. "You'll get one."


End file.
